


Losing the Battle, Starting to Win the War

by Lemonade_Rain



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Connor Murphy (Dear Evan Hansen) Deserves Better, Connor Murphy (Dear Evan Hansen) In Recovery, Depression, Established Relationship, Evan Hansen In Recovery, I love my dead gay (bi?) son, I really needed this okay, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, M/M, Recovery, References to Depression, Swearing, also Connor, oof I’m so soft for this ship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-10-22 12:21:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17662541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lemonade_Rain/pseuds/Lemonade_Rain
Summary: “Um. Your bracelets. Could you, could you maybe take them off? Sorry, they’re just distracting.”Another pause. “Sorry.” Evan says again.Connor doesn’t even question it, just making sure his sleeves are rolled down before he offers his boyfriend his arm once again.————————All Connor agreed to was letting his boyfriend paint his nails, but he’d severely underestimated just how much else Evan would notice.





	Losing the Battle, Starting to Win the War

**Author's Note:**

> In case anyone was wondering, yeah, this slightly based off of a scene from the novel. I was rereading it and suddenly had the urge to turn that scene from what it was into Tree Bros hurt/comfort so here we are.
> 
> I love writing angst way too much…

Connor had never meant for it to happen.

Evan had come to his house and it was empty for once. There was no Zoe, no Cynthia and no Larry. It was just him and his boyfriend, sitting on his bed about to watch a movie… or possibly a documentary about trees (Evan seemed to have a strange obsession and Connor thought it was adorable).

Connor had just worked up the courage to say something and was about to open his mouth when:

“Oh, your, uh, your nails aren’t painted today.” Evan notes, looking down at Connor’s hand before meeting his eyes again.

“Yeah, I… I think I only had time to take the old coat off this morning. Is it too weird or something?” In all honesty, Connor is surprised Evan noticed. Nobody else had, not even Zoe, who he’d seen more than anyone else that morning.

Evan taps his own fingers against the head board.

“No it’s fine. Just different.” Connor nods but doesn’t say anything back. Yet. He knows that sometimes his boyfriend needs a few moments to work up the courage to say something and now feels like one of those times.

“Can I do them for you?” Evan shuffles his feet, having moved on from finger tapping.

“Sure, if you really want.” Connor actually sort of likes the idea. And it isn't as if his tv is going anywhere; they can always watch the documentary or whatever later.

Connor reaches for the bottle of black nail polish he keeps on his desk, but Evan stops him, asking if he could chose a different colour instead. Connor isn’t even sure if he’s capable of saying no at this point so the two end up sneaking (or rather just… walking normally; nobody is in the house to catch them) into his sister’s room to borrow another bottle. Connor makes a mental note to thank Zoe later.

“Is this one okay?”

Though he quickly forgets about it when Evan emerges with the most beautiful shade of purple Connor has ever seen.

And if Evan thinks Connor should wear violet nail polish, Connor is going to wear violet nail polish.

Anyway, it takes Connor all the way until he’s already sitting back down on the bed, half facing Evan for him to realise he has no idea how he’s going to keep himself from mentally decomposing while he’s siting that close to his boyfriend.

If Evan notices, he doesn’t say anything. He just carefully takes the already nail polish coated brush and makes sure it isn’t going to drip.

He pauses after just painting the first coat on Connor’s pinky finger. Again getting the feeling his boyfriend is about to say something, Connor doesn't react.

“Um. Your bracelets. Could you, could you maybe take them off? Sorry, they’re just distracting.”

Another pause. “Sorry.” He says again.

Connor doesn’t even question it, just making sure his sleeves are rolled down before he offers his boyfriend his arm once again.

It takes a while for Evan to finish Connor’s entire hand, but when it’s done they’re both pleased with the results. Especially Connor, who was sure he hadn’t been able to keep his hand still for the entire ordeal.

It was fun, in its own weird way. They were just talking about whatever came to mind, nothing serious. It was the kind of thing Connor imagines he’d be used to if he actually had other friends who he met up with often. He even feels himself unraveling a little, a sensation he can’t recall experiencing for many months beforehand.

But then everything comes crashing down at once when he changes arms and Evan freezes up.

“Con?” A beat, and Connor feels his chest start to tighten. Evan’s voice changes, suddenly becoming less stable. “What… What happened to your arm?”

 It’s only then that Connor notices how his sleeve has managed to ride up where he reached forward without bracelets to anchor them down.

_This can’t be happening._

“I’m sorry.” Connor pulls his arm back, panic starting to rise in his stomach. “Fuck. I-“ He rushes to tug his sleeves down, to put his bracelets back on, to do anything that would get Evan to stop staring because _oh god this was a mistake and now Evan's going to hate him and he’s going to go back to being the freak without any friends and and and-_

He starts spiralling. He can’t help it. Because he’s literally on the cusp of a fucking _breakdown_ right in front Evan godamn Hansen, who seems to be the only person alive in the same cruel world as Connor who actually cares about him enough to tell him that he does.

And then, suddenly, a hand in his. Gently unfolding his fingers from the fist they’d made on reflex before intertwining them with its own. Connor is back on Earth again.

He takes a few deep breaths before looking up and meeting his boyfriend’s eyes.

“Con.” Evan’s voice is steady, strong and keeps Connor grounded.He’s speaking slowly, clearly putting in an effort to keep himself from stammering. “It’s okay. I promise it’s okay.”

Connor’s vision blurs at the edges. _It’s not okay. It’s horrible and ugly and-_

 “You hate me”.

 _Shit_. He hadn’t meant to say anything out loud. Feeling panic and nausea start to build up again, Connor wrenches his hands from Evan’s (not that it's difficult. Evan’s palms are sweaty, unsurprisingly) and shuffles further away.

Connor’s arms are still painfully exposed and the thought alone makes his chest tighten. And Evan still hasn’t said anything else. He's just sat there, now digging his fingernails into his arm, just about where the first ‘o’ in ‘Connor’ would be if he was still wearing his cast.

“I-“ Connor suddenly feels like he can’t open his mouth. He’s too afraid that if he does he’ll end up saying something that could hurt Evan. Or maybe he’ll just start sobbing.

 Because in this moment the person he cares about most can clearly see evidence of the worst part of him. The part that shows he isn't getting better, or at least that he's struggling to. The part that shows how he still doesn't feel like he can breathe at times from all of the _pressure_. Connor is supposed to be getting better now. That's what he's been telling everyone. And for the most part, it's what they believe. They see what he wants them to, and that's Connor remembering to take his medication every day. Getting better grades in class and revising more because he's supposed to be that smart. Talking to people, making friends.

 Not using sharpeners for all the wrong reasons.

 The thing was, this was _new_. Connor had never thought about doing it before. Sure, he'd done some stupid things even before he'd decided he wasn't going to try anymore, but he'd never attempted to hurt himself like that. Until he stopped everything _else_. Recovery on its own was already hard for Connor, but the fact that he couldn't even use any of his usual coping methods (the ones he'd so often heard referred to as 'harmful') was making it so much harder.

“Connor, I don’t hate you. I _don’t_.” Evan pleads, his voice a little higher than usual. “It’s okay. I get it. If you’ve felt like you had to do that before, I understand. I… I really do.”

Connor knows what he should do next. He knows he should tell Evan that everything is okay, that he’s fine now and that there’s nothing to worry about. But instead what slips out is:

“These aren’t old, Ev.” And he immediately regrets saying it. And then he doesn’t.

God, he’s being selfish now. He _knows_ he’s scaring Evan yet he’s not doing anything to help him calm down. Just making it even worse by saying worrying things like that. He can see how Evan tenses at hearing that one thing from him, and Connor knows this is where he’s meant to stop. He needs to backtrack _now_.

But he can’t, he realises. Connor can’t pretend that it’s fine because that wouldn’t be real.

And Connor doesn’t want Evan to see anything but the real him.

 The real Connor still isn’t okay. He’s better now, better than he was at the beginning of the year when he attempted... _It_ (the one thing he sometimes wishes he hadn’t failed to do). Yet he still hasn’t reached 'fine' yet and he thinks he still has a way to go.

“I know.” Evan says, quieter.“But that’s, that’s still okay. Con, you’re doing great. You’re going to be okay.”

Connor wants to argue with that. It’s not okay and they both know it. It’s disgusting and he was meant to be doing better than this. He’s a disappointment. Instead, he realises he’s crying. _Fuck_. Not just crying, full on sobbing. Because those words are ones Connor has longed to hear someone say to him for months. _“You’re doing great.”_ He’d eventually decided that he wasn’t worth hearing them. _“You’re going to be okay.”_

Those last five words are ones he actually has heard before, once. When he was lying on a stretcher in the back of an ambulance on the first day of school. A paramedic saying the same thing they must have been trained to say to every pathetic teenage boy that was found bleeding out in a bathroom by his mother... Yeah, Connor doesn’t like to think about it either.

He feels pathetic now. He can’t stop crying and Evan seems to be starting to panic. He's stopped talking now and he's fidgeting even more.

_God, this was supposed to be a date._

…

It takes him a moment to register that his boyfriend has put his arms around him and is now holding him tightly. Still saying nothing, Evan stays like that, just waiting it out with him. Connor tries to match Evan’s breathing pace, slowly sucking in deep breaths before carefully exhaling again.

Connor really can’t believe this is all happening. He’s never broken down in front of someone before and he never thought he’d see the day when he did. Yet here he is, actively sobbing all because of Evan.

The two stay the way the are for a few minutes (despite how awkward Connor feels since his own arms are limp at his sides) until Connor’s sure he’s able to actually talk again and he pullls away.

“You shouldn’t have to see that.” The first thing he does is pull his sleeves down. _Finally_.

“Like I said, Con. Its okay. I understand. Sort of.” Evan glances up. “Um, stop me if you want.

“I know I don’t talk about it, but I, I’m still trying to recover too. And it’s not easy. Relapses suck and sometimes I feel like I’m never going to be happy again. I wish I could say I feel… happier by now, but I don’t and… I guess you already know?

“But I think that’s okay. It’s hard, but the results are supposed to be worth it so, so… um…

Unsure of what else to do, Connor just nods in response. Oddly enough, he feels comforted by Evan’s anxious stammering. It’s something he’s used to and it somehow grounds him. It feels like a safety net, lifeline.

Suddenly feeling the need to do something with his hands, Connor picks at nail polish on his duvet. Cynthia wasn’t going to be happy with him if he ruined another one. It must have rubbed off of his nails earlier, which probably meant said nails were fluffy now. _Ew_.

“And…” In all honesty, Connor can’t believe Evan is still talking. “I’m doing this. You’re doing it. Con, we’re doing this together. And I, I think it’s going to be okay. We’re going to be okay because I…”

Something feels different that moment. A shift in the air or something along those lines. Whatever it is, Connor can sense it. Evan takes a deep breath and makes sure they’re looking each other in the eyes.

“I love you, Connor.” A beat.

“I love you too.” Connor’s voice comes out weak and hoarse from the crying but judging from Evan’s expression, he couldn’t have said it better.

He supposes they both know he means it.


End file.
